


No One’s Asking You to Bleed

by torakowalski



Series: AU Prompts [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me guess,” Clint says, “lion tamer.”</p>
<p>The guy looks over at him, wincing when he moves too fast, then smiles.  He has a nice smile, peaceful and calm and totally unsuitable for the ER.  “Very close,” he says.  He has a nice voice, too.  “And you’re a… stunt man?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One’s Asking You to Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> For [perletwo](http://perletwo.tumblr.com/) who asked for Clint/Coulson 'meeting in the ER.'

Clint’s been waiting super patiently for a couple of hours by the time a guy in suit pants and a blood-soaked white shirt sits down in the empty chair next to him.

He’s moving stiff as hell and the left side of his shirt has been ripped by something that looks like it had giant fuck-off claws. He’s more interesting than the screaming kids, the shaky old people, or the nurses Clint’s been watching up to now.

He’s also way more interesting than Clint’s own broken ribs, bloody nose, and maybe-concussion.

“Let me guess,” Clint says, “lion tamer.”

The guy looks over at him, wincing when he moves too fast, then smiles. He has a nice smile, peaceful and calm and totally unsuitable for the ER. “Very close,” he says. He has a nice voice, too. “And you’re a… stunt man?”

Clint finds himself smiling back, even though it hurts his split lip. “I definitely fall down enough,” he agrees. “I’m Clint.”

“Phil,” he says. He waves a hand to indicate the harried looking woman on the front desk. “How long have you been here?”

“Couple of hours,” Clint says. He looks again at all the blood on Phil’s shirt. “I woulda thought she’d let you straight through.”

“Ah.” Phil almost looks embarrassed. “Most of this isn’t mine.”

“Is it the lion’s?” Clint asks. 

“In a manner of speaking.” Phil shifts in his chair, rolling his left shoulder awkwardly. He closes his eyes for a second, as though it’s that or actually letting on that he’s in pain. Clint knows that look well.

“I got beaten up by a Russian mafia dude for stealing his dog,” Clint offers.

It startles a laugh out of Phil, like Clint had been hoping for. “Why did you steal a dog from the mafia?”

Clint pulls his phone out of his pocket and shows the lock screen to Phil. “That’s Lucky,” he says. “Could you leave that stupid dumb face with the mafia?”

“I don’t think I could,” Phil agrees, but his attention is more on Clint than on Lucky, something soft in his eyes.

Clint takes the phone back and ducks his head. He doesn’t want Phil getting any ideas that Clint’s a hero. Especially not when Phil’s clearly a cop or a Fed or… something awesome, anyway. The dude’s clothes have been ripped to shreds, and he’s just sitting here looking at pictures of Clint’s dog.

“Mr Barton,” a nurse calls and for all that Clint’s spent the last two hours bored and hurting, he doesn’t want to get up, now.

“Is that you?” Phil asks, when Clint groans softly. He smiles that nice smile again. “It was good to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Um.” Clint stands up slowly, ignoring the pain in his ribs. He thinks about pushing his luck, asking for Phil’s number or something, but he knows he wouldn’t get it, so he just smiles and stuffs his hands in his pockets, following the nurse into the ER.

***

It’s the same procedure as always: stitches, bandages and a lecture about not getting beat up so much. 

Phil’s gone from the waiting room by the time Clint gets out, which isn’t a surprise, but is kind of disappointing.

Actually, who is Clint kidding? It’s hella disappointing. He wishes he’d given him his number, now.

“Hey,” he says to the woman at the counter. “That guy in the suit with all the blood? Phil? He still getting treated?”

“I can’t tell you that,” she says, in the sort of tone that implies she says it a hundred thousand times a day.

“No, sure,” Clint agrees. “But.” He smiles his best smile, which isn’t as good at Phil’s smile, but has been known to work on people a time or two.

“I haven’t seen him come back out,” she says eventually. She narrows her eyes at Clint. “Don’t murder him.”

“Do I look like a murderer?” Clint asks, offended. Then he thinks about how he does look at the moment. “Never mind.”

He drops back down into the same seat as before, stretching his legs out in front of himself, and watching people as they leave the ER, looking more bandaged and less miserable than they went in. Mostly. The little kids still look miserable and Clint works very hard not to have any flashbacks.

Eventually, just when Clint’s starting to wonder if this is weird and he’s being kind of creepy, the swing doors open and Phil walks out. His arm’s in a sling, which he shrugs off as soon as he’s out the door, and he’s wearing scrubs in place of his ruined shirt.

“Hey,” Clint says, getting up too fast. Ow.

Phil looks surprised, but he definitely looks pleased. At least, Clint hopes he looks pleased. “I thought you’d be gone.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint shrugs. “I decided to stick around. See if you wanted to share a taxi.”

“A taxi?” Phil asks. He drops his sling into the first trash can they pass. “To where?”

Clint waggles his eyebrows. “My place?”

Phil stops still and laughs. “You’re hitting on me?” he asks. “Really?”

“Hey,” Clint says, stung. “I know I’m not in your league, but dude, there’s no need to - ”

Phil stops laughing, expression creasing in concerned. “Wait, no,” he says. He touches Clint’s arm. “I’m laughing because we’re both bruised to hell and back, not because I’m not interested.”

“Yeah?” Clint asks suspiciously. “If we weren’t?”

“Then I’d take you home and keep you up all night,” Phil says, voice low and promising.

Clint shivers. “Fuck,” he says. “Wanna raincheck?”

“Yes,” Phil says, no hesitation or anything. “Maybe I can even help you with your Russian mafia problem.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I can help you with your lion taming.” They’ve reached the sidewalk outside the hospital, and winter air hits Clint’s skin. He’s feeling kind of flushed though, so he doesn’t mind.

“It wasn’t a lion,” Phil says, like Clint might not have realised that for himself. “It was a mutant human with five-inch claws. Still interested?”

“Getting more so,” Clint says, and reassesses his opinion of Phil from ‘cop’ to ‘ninja.’ “Wanna get breakfast?”

“It’s three in the morning,” Phil says.

“So that’s a yes?” Clint asks.

Phil smiles at him. “That’s a yes.”


End file.
